


every road that leads to heaven

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And Sam having opinions about music, Broken Hearts, F/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Sam Wilson is an excellent therapist, Tiny domestic fic, and pancakes, but with feelings, gentle sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Natasha finds Sam making pancakes.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	every road that leads to heaven

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing!

Natasha was walking through the common areas of the Avengers’ upstate compound when she heard music. “Steve?” she called out. She thought it sounded like Steve sort of music.

“Nope,” a voice said from Tony’s sleek modernist kitchen. “It’s just me, Romanoff.” She recognized Sam Wilson’s voice.

“Hi,” she said, leaning against the wall at the threshold of the kitchen, “what are you making?” He was whisking something in a bowl. There was a speaker a few inches from his phone.

“Pancakes,” he said. He turned to look at her. “What are your feelings about pancakes?”

“Pretty positive,” Natasha said, “generally speaking.”

“You’re smiling,” Sam said.

“The first time I ever had American-style pancakes was at this terrible diner, right after I met Barton,” she said. “It’s three in the morning, we’re covered in dirt, exhausted, and he tells me they’re just like blinis. Which they are not, just for the record. Nothing like blinis.” Sam laughed. 

“They are not,” he said. 

“Can I help with something?” she offered.

“You wanna use those knife skills on some pecans for me?” he asked. “Unless you can, uh, crush them with your thighs,” he said, more teasingly.

“Ha ha,” Nat said, pushing off the wall and retrieving a kitchen knife. She chopped quietly. She liked Sam Wilson. He had a sense of humor--and he didn’t use it defensively like Tony or Steve. She glanced at him as he poured batter into the pan. It smelled like melted butter. “Where is everybody else tonight?” she asked Sam. 

“Vision and Wanda are at the movies, Tony’s taking Pepper shopping, Thor’s back in Asgard, and Steve is somewhere cussing at his motorcycle,” Sam said. “Because he thinks if he reads the manual one time, his eidetic memory will save him.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Nat said.

“Not if you forget to refill the gas tank,” Sam cracked. 

“He can hotwire a car to get home,” she said, feeling herself grin.

“Uh-huh,” Sam said.

“He calls it borrowing,” Nat said, doing air quotes.

“He’s the only one who could get away with that,” Sam said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” Nat said.

“Don’t pretend like you’ve never flirted with a cop,” Sam said.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Not a cop, just multiple four-star generals, some senators, the president of Latvia....” Nat said, letting her voice trail off. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Both of them stared at each other for a second, until Sam sniffed.

“Damn,” he said. The opposite side of the pancake he was cooking had gotten a little brown.

“I’ll take that one,” she said. “Who is this singing? I thought it was Steve’s music.”

“Postmodern Jukebox,” Sam said. “New songs, old style. I thought it would appeal to Cap, too. But he snubbed my favorite Kanye cover.” 

“Oh yeah?” Nat asked. 

“You gotta hear this song and tell me it’s not a beautiful song,” Sam said. He leaned over and flicked his phone screen. A woman’s voice filled the kitchen. “Only One,” Sam said.

“It’s pretty,” Nat said. 

“I love this. He wrote it about his mama after she passed, like she was speaking to him, but Cap didn’t get it,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Kept asking me about the Kardashians’ TV show.” Nat laughed at his frustrated expression.

“Can I hear it again?” she asked. 

“Absolutely,” Sam said, as she leaned over to carefully sprinkle pecans on the plate where he’d stacked several pancakes. “Finally, somebody listens to the words."

They were sitting down when she caught him looking at her. “What?” Nat asked.

“You miss him?” Sam said. She knew he meant Banner. Who’d left her. And hadn’t come back.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Sometimes.” He nodded. “Like days that end in the letter y. And then sometimes…” she trailed off.

“Not so much?” Sam said.

“I’m pissed off that he thinks I’m either too good or too much or whatever,” Nat said. “I don’t even know. Because he’s just gone.” She stabbed a triangle of pancake with a little too much emphasis.

“I don’t think you’re _that_ good,” Sam said. Nat laughed.

“Thank you.”

“You might be a little much,” he told her. “What with all the knives and the fast car and your hairstyles.”

“What’s wrong with my hairstyles?” she said.

“Nothing’s wrong with ‘em, you just got a new one every other, what, week?” he said teasingly. She grinned back, then bit her lip.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked. He nodded. “When I was young, we didn’t have normal things,” she said. “Do you know about that?” Sam’s smile dimmed.

“You were trained in the Red Room,” he said, face serious. “Cap mentioned it.”

“Yes,” she said. “And sometimes, we used to get magazines. Contraband, really. Women’s magazines. We passed them around until they practically fell apart. It was always about hairstyles or clothes or makeup,” she explained. “I read all the articles. I thought--I kept thinking that one day, I would be an adult and I would know who I was and then I would understand things. And if I knew who I was, I’d know how I wanted my hair to look.” 

“Hair’s important,” he said, non-judgmentally. He gave her a gentle look.

“I’m still figuring it out,” she admitted. “Everything.”

“Sure,” he said. “You’ve got time. Take your time, Natasha.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently obsessed with the Postmodern Jukebox cover of Only One: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5ALv9qGcKY


End file.
